Vignettes
by FreshlyJuicedBeetles
Summary: A series of vignettes, mostly revolving around Holmes and Lestrade.
1. Lazarus

Lestrade didn't come up with that hair brained scheme overnight. It was always in the back of her head, just like Holmes, down in the basement of a New Scotland Yard storage facility, hidden among old murder books and evidence.

Holmes didn't jump into the idea head first either. His resurrection was meticulously planned. Papers were signed by him, granting the Lestrade family power of attorney over his remains and leaving no shadow of doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing. Affidavits were signed by a physician stating that Holmes was in good enough physical and mental health to endure the strain. The Lestrade family was even given the journals of Dr. John H. Watson. Holmes was always meant to have the journals and the family was only holding them until his return.

Holmes wanted it this way because he knew, in his heart of hearts, that somehow the world was not ridden of James Moriarty and that he would return in some form or another. Holmes wanted to be there if, or when, Moriarty returned.

Lestrade had thought about it for nearly a year prior to when she began to implement it. She knew something strange was happening. There were signs everywhere that led to Moriarty in hindsight; multiple break ins at the Holmes museum, trespassing at Reichenbach, which had been closed off to the public for years due to avalanche activity. Seeing Moriarty, alive and well was the final straw she needed. She knew the steps she had to take for this to be even remotely legal. She had to get the packet of documents that Holmes had signed all those years ago and a doctor to do it.

Holmes could be the third person to be resurrected. Sir Evan Hargreaves was the inventor of the process, but never wanted to patent the process or profit off it. He remarked that the one true reason anyone would go to such lengths to resurrect another, would be heartbreak; the kind of heartbreak a deceased loved one leaves. He could never profit from such sadness and never hid his secrets. Also, he didn't want the failure on his shoulders. He'd allow others that burden. The first was a doctor from Glasgow who had been tinkering with the process itself and wanted to be the first resurrection. When the good doctor returned, it was a media storm and ethical nightmare. What does this mean for the world now? There needed to be laws and regulations. What does this mean for religion? Is there a god?

Lestrade couldn't think about that yet. That was a problem for future her. Her mind was on those papers. That was as easy as a trip to the bank. Tucked away in her family's lockbox were the documents she needed. Lestrade just had to get the code, which meant she had to tell her father.

Each Lestrade was somewhat of Holmes' keeper. It started with Gregory, then his son James, James' son Thomas, Thomas' daughter Katherine, Katherine's daughter Tessa, right up till Lestrade's father, and Lestrade herself. They kept Holmes' papers and knew the protocol. Holmes was cared for in all those years he was gone. The Lestrade family changed the honey several times and the casket he was interred in when the current one began to show wear.

She wasn't sure what to expect when she called her dad. Would he understand? Would he be resistant? Lestrade really wasn't in the mood to be lectured. She knew this was the right road.

As soon as the time zones cooperated, she called her father.

"Hey, Beth!" David Lestrade said happily, seeing his daughter's face. "How are things?"

"Weird. Things are weird," She answered. David's brow furrowed, "There's been break ins at the Holmes museum, someone is recruiting criminals. I think it's Moriarty…"

"What are you saying?" David leaned forward.

"We need Holmes. Moriarty is back. Somehow. No one recovered Moriarty's body, remember? Maybe Holmes' knew something we don't."

"It's not just up to me, sweetheart." David said. Lestrade's heart sank, "Look, I gotta talk to Grandpa and the aunts about this. How about we all call you Friday night and we'll discuss this as a family."

Lestrade sighed and nodded. "That'll work." It wasn't the response she wanted, patience was never her strong suit, but it was better than 'you're crazy! No!'.

David nodded, "Stay safe out there. I love you."

"I love you, too."

The call ended.

Lestrade leaned back in her chair and clutched her forehead, "Great. A tribunal."

Friday night came slowly. Lestrade rehearsed for days what she wanted to say to make her case. Lestrade paced in her living room, in front of her computer, waiting for it to chime with an incoming call. It was just getting light out. She mourned for the extra hour of sleep she lost for this call. The time difference between London and middle-class America was bothersome even for a quick chat, let alone something this important.

The terminal chimed and Lestrade sat down, accepting the call. The screen came alive with the faces of her family. Her twin brother Matt, a police officer in their hometown sat in his living room, a ceiling fan whirling above him. Their two aunts, Magdalene and Bridget, or 'Jett', were huddled together in Maggie's dining room, the garish wallpaper was a dead giveaway. Her Grandpa sat quietly, his hands clasped as he looked at the screen. Lastly, her father was there in his home office, the door closed.

For a moment, no one said anything. Greetings seemed too small for the topic they needed to discuss.

"Are you sure he's back dear, you saw him?" Aunt Jett asked.

"Yes. He's working with this rogue geneticist, Martin Fenwick. I know we're toeing the lines of ethics ourselves here, but this guy has done some fu-, sorry, _messed_ up things. Like brain transplants and 'organ repossessions'. Most of his victims were in such agony when we found them, it was more humane to euthanize them. I'm talking Marie Lalaurie levels of messed up. Once he ran out of victims, he started experimenting on himself, altering his DNA and turned into some weird looking troll. He doesn't even look human anymore. He looked me dead in the eye and said, 'My master, your worst nightmare.' That, and there was no DNA match on their getaway car, other than Fenwick's. I mean, there was DNA there, just _unregistered_ DNA." Lestrade explained.

"I'm game. Let's do it." Matt said, confidently.

"Wait, wait, wait," David said, holding a hand up. "We have a lot to talk about here,"

"Okay, but what if when Moriarty is captured? Then what? And where is Holmes gonna live?" Maggie asked.

"We all promised to be his stewards in his death and his life if it were to come of it. Tresa and I have some money in the bank, more than enough to get him secured in a new apartment until he gets on his feet without inconveniencing ourselves in the event of a rainy day." David said.

"I don't mind at all if he needs to stay with me for a time," Lestrade added.

"He took other cases besides Moriarty." Matt stated.

"You'll be his helper, Beth, can you handle that? Remember what kinda time he's from…"

"Dad, I'm a cop. I put up with misogynistic assholes for a living. At least Holmes had the capability of being a gentleman."

"Well, it's not only that," Aunt Maggie spoke up, "the man was a habitual drug user and likely had a mental illness. Is it even humane to bring him back to that kind of suffering?"

"Almost everyone has a mental illness, Mag." Matt said, "They're really not that big of a deal anymore. He can go to therapy if he wants and if not, there's meds which are just as effective. Also, who uses cocaine? People have moved on. I barely even see it them streets anymore."

"He's right," Beth said, "I've only came across it once here in London and that was five years ago."

"From my understanding, the rejuvenation process will clear his body of any effects of drug dependency. That coupled with the lack of availability, I don't see Holmes having an issue. For insurance purposes, the doc can shoot some blockers into his nervous system so if he tries anything screwy, nothing will happen. That leads us to our next point, do you have someone in mind who can do this, Beth?"

"Yeah, he's name is Hargreave's. I'm sending you this news story about him now."

One by one, their terminals chimed with the incoming message.

"We still have think about what we're subjecting him to. I know that he had a doctor's consent to do this, but that science is so old and outdated now, it's hardly even science anymore. Think about what this means for religion. For the rest of his life, he's gonna be subjected to people harassing him about what death is like. What religion is right…" Jett said.

Matt interjected, "The two others before him, that mom from Texas and the doctor in Glasgow, they have no memories of the afterlife. It's kinda a moot point."

"Well, remember what happened to the doctor," Maggie started, "he has cancer that metastasized and didn't have a single instance of cancer in his family. Didn't Holmes have early signs of dementia when he died? Alzheimer's, cancer, addiction, mental illness, I don't think he should have ever been a candidate in the first place."

"That doctor bucked all medical advice and went on a world tour about his experience. Again, everything you said is completely manageable and no longer a death sentence or horrible way to live. Look, we can't baby this guy. He'll have to be monitored closer than average person. We can't bend to him. He'll have to suck it up and take care of himself, of my god, the horror!" Matt rolled his eyes.

The family have a small laugh at Matt's theatrics.

"Back to what I was saying earlier. You're gonna have to be his aide, his guide to the 22nd century, Beth." David said, "You're gonna have to teach him how to do almost everything; how to use a modern phone, how to use a computer, modern etiquette. Do we all think he can handle all this?"

"I can," Lestrade stated firmly.

"If Moriarty is back, then we have to do something. I'm with Beth on this." Matt said.

"Dad, you've been awfully quite this whole time. What do you think?" David asked.

"Well," The Lestrade elder started, "Beth has never been one to lie or fall prone to exaggerations. If she says she saw Moriarty, I believe her. Holmes had this all planned out in the event he did, and he has. I think it's time to wake the old man up."

"Well, I guess I'm with Dad. This is what Holmes wanted. I think it's time to move forward." David said.

"I have my reservations, but if Dad thinks it's what we need to do, I agree." Jett agreed.

"Me too," Maggie added.

Beth sighed in relief, falling back in her chair.

"Beth, this is just the first hurdle." David warned, "You gotta remember how long he's been down there and what kinda life, what kinda shock we're gonna subject this man too. We've always been told by the Yard techs that the longer Holmes is in there, the less of a chance he has to come out of it. The last time we changed the honey and examined him was seven years ago. The docs said the window of opportunity was rapidly closing. They estimated he's only viable for a few more years. After that, his projected health significantly decreases. If he's not living by the end of this decade, I'm afraid I'll have to make the call and inter him. Holmes never stated in his life or Will the parameters in which the experiment was stopped. So, we have to decide for him."

"Well, I guess I need to hurry then." Lestrade said.

David grinned at his daughter's tenacity. "The code is 74439. Box 319. You'll find all that you need."

"Keep us updated," Jett said.

"I will, I promise," Lestrade replied.

The elders left the call, leaving the siblings. Matt eyed his twin for a moment. "So, you're really gonna do it?"

"Guess so."

Matt grinned, "Tell him to call me when he wakes up. I have questions for him like that Red Headed League plot hole!"

His voice hurried as he saw Lestrade move to end the call, grinning at her brother but not wanting to indulge any fanboy tendencies.

Lestrade jumped out of her chair, "Watson! Memo to Greyson!"

"Recording."

"Chief, I can't come in today." She faked a cough, "I'm sick."

She could almost feel the compudroid judging her. "Shut up and get in the cruiser."

Getting to the bank and into the lockbox was a blur, but seeing Holmes' signature, written in ink by his own hand was surreal. This was really happening.


	2. Meet the Family

Sherlock Holmes would admit to rarely feeling nervous. He had stared down James Moriarty numerous times, fallen from great heights and found himself in life-threatening situations on an almost regular basis and never bat an eye at it. The situation he currently found himself in was not like any he had found himself in and he was a bit anxious.

Having been courting Beth for almost a year, it was time to make the trek to meet her family in America. Holmes had spoken to most of her immediate family previously, her parents, her twin brother and her grandfather, the Lestrade family patriarch via holophone but they were not the ones who concerned him. He was being introduced to the entire Lestrade family, aunts and cousins at a family dinner at her grandfather's house, in Holmes' honor. Beth explained to him that he was sort of a mythic hero to the family, his cases told to the younger generations like fairytales and how Gregory Lestrade worked right alongside the famous detective.

While he does own the infamous Inverness and deerstalker, that is decidedly 'country wear' for him. He had to wonder if he needed to pull out those iconic items just for the family. Holmes always dresses smartly; a finely tailored suit and tie are his staples while conveying an anachronism. His pocket squares always accent the color of his tie and his black leather shoes are always shined to perfection.

"Should I bring these?" Holmes asked as they packed, holding a brown deerstalker and matching Inverness with a gold clasp and buckles on the sleeves.

Beth cackled, "First, you'll swelter in the heat. Second, they know you're not the character the world knows. Just be yourself."

Holmes never felt compelled to live up to his literary caricature, not that he believed that that was what the family was expecting, but when you are meeting your significant other's family who seem to have a high regard for you, you feel a tad nervous regardless. Not only that, but this was the family he had put in charge of his final wish, to be reanimated. If the process went sideways, he feared that anyone else would not be objective enough to know when it was time to reinter him. He couldn't express how grateful and indebted he felt. Still waters run deep within the great detective and he steeled his nerves. Sherlock Holmes had other matters to worry about during this holiday.

Inspector Gregory Lestrade's great-grandson, Andrew left London and moved to America where he started a family. The Lestrade family still resides in the same city Andrew settled in. Policing was a strong tradition in the family, with Beth's great grandmother, grandfather, father, brother and forefathers and foremothers working with the local police department.

Holmes and Lestrade had flown from London early in the morning. Beth spent most of the flight asleep on his shoulder. He with noise-canceling earbuds, listening to an audiobook. Matt left a car for them at the airport. Once Holmes stepped out of the air-conditioned building, the oppressive heat and humidity of Beth's home state assaulted him, despite the night air. Beth wasn't too keen on going back home during the summer months, saying that the weather was one of the reasons she left. This was the only time she could get enough time off work to do so.

"How do you stand such weather? I feel as though I need gills just to breathe!" Holmes complained.

Beth laughed, "You'll get used to it. Wait until its noon and it's one hundred plus degrees, then you can complain. Ever see a tornado, Holmes?" She teased.

"I'd rather not."

As Beth drove, she pointed out local interests; this place is where famous so and so got their start, someone of prominence died right there. They left the small metropolis and drove on a dark, rural skyway dotted with houses, cemeteries, farms and the county water tower. After a twisty skylane lined with the tops of trees, a small burg emerged.

"I wrecked my first car there. Totaled it. Wasn't my fault."

"That place has the _best_ cheesecake."

"That's Grandpa's house,"

"I had my prom here,"

Beth dropped the speed as they pulled into a neighborhood and a home at the center of the cul-de-sac. Matt's car was in the driveway, no less too excited to meet the great detective to wait until the dinner.

"Ready?" Beth asked.

Holmes beamed confidently, "My dear, you make it sound as though I am meeting my judge, jury, and executioner."

Beth made a face that cast doubt on that logic. He may be Sherlock Holmes, but he was still the man dating their daughter/sister/niece. He needed to live up to their standards.

They walked in and the sleeping home sprung to life. Matt and her father David, previously asleep on the couch and recliner in front of the tv jolted awake at the sound of the door opening.

"Beth?!" Tresa Lestrade called from the hall, eager to see her daughter. Tresa was a sprite of a woman, short and petite with brown hair and warm brown eyes.

An old brown, greying boxer with floppy jowls named Stewart hid conspicuously behind the couch, warily watching this new human. His stranger danger alarms were going off.

Matt scrambled from the couch to Holmes and Lestrade. "Oh my god, you're really him! Holy shit, dude!" he gushed, "I mean, yeah, I've talked to you on the phone but gah! You're really here! Can I get a selfie, an autograph? Oh my god, this is so cool! Hey, so about that Red-Headed League plot hole…"

"Matt, calm down. You're going to have a heart attack," Beth chided, "Sorry about him, I think that cage training isn't working," She teased her twin. He was so awestruck by Holmes that he let it slide.

Holmes smiled good-naturedly, shaking Matt's hand, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

"Out of the way, out of the way, shoo!" Tresa urged, trying to get to her daughter, pushing her son and the 250-year-old detective.

She hugged Beth tightly, showering her with kisses, "You need to come around more! I can't go so long without seeing you!"

"I know, mom, I know."

David Lestrade joined his family at the door. David was a tall, burly man with more salt than pepper hair and beard, "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I'd never thought I'd ever get to see you standing, let alone in my own doorway." He said, offering his hand.

Holmes took it, "Yes, I do owe your family an abundance of gratitude. I would not be here today without you all. I simply cannot express it." Holmes was struck by how much David looked like a larger Gregory Lestrade.

Tresa turned to Holmes, "I'm speechless. It's really you."

"You have a lovely home, madam."

"She's cleaned, like, all day for you guys," Matt said.

Tresa laughed, "Well, on that note, I'm going back to bed. Matt, can you grab their bags, please? Put them in Beth's old room. Beth, I'm sure you can show Mr. Holmes around from here?"

"Please, call me Sherlock."

"You'll have to give them time, something about showing proper respect and whatnot," Beth said.

"Why do you still call him Holmes?" Matt argued.

Beth shrugged, "Force of habit. Hafta on the job though."

"Whatever," Matt said dismissively as he and David carried in the luggage.

Matt stretched and groaned like a Yeti, "Yeah, I'm going to bed, too. Night."

"Don't you have a place of your own?" Beth jeered.

"Yeah, I don't feel like driving back only to come back in a few hours," Matt answered simply.

"You live, like, five miles from here. You just want to hang out with Sherlock, you nerd!"

"I'm a nerd!? You're dating him! What does that make you?"

"Kids!" David barked.

Holmes was enjoying the comedic scene in front of him. The Lestrade residence was so different than his own growing up. It felt like a library where you couldn't speak. Here, it was lively. It truly was a home.

Matt grumbled as he stalked off down the hall. David turned to his daughter. David hugged Beth, their foreheads touching, "Oh how I missed you."

"I missed you, too, Dad."

David regarded his daughter for a moment, then Holmes and followed Tresa to bed.

"I'm sure you noticed the elephant in the room; Stewart over there trying to hide. He's a few bulbs short of a full Christmas tree. He's friendly but a doofus."

Holmes slowly approached the dog. When he was at a respectful distance, he offered his hand. Stewart sniffed it and promptly sneezed into his hand.

Beth howled with laughter as Holmes cleaned his hand with a kerchief.

"C'mon, I'm beat." Beth said, leading Holmes to their room for their stay.

It wasn't lost on Beth that her childhood idol was now sharing her childhood bedroom with her. Most of her things had long since been packed away and sent to London, leaving little trace of a young Beth Lestrade who spent hours reading Watson's journals, the published casebooks or watching anything Holmes related. Now, it was simply a guest bedroom with neutral bedding and accents. The garish red walls that Beth begged to be painted when she was fourteen was covered up by Tresa as soon as possible.

Pictures of the family dotted the room; on the desk was a replica of a daguerreotype of Inspector Gregory Lestrade himself. The senior pictures of Matt and Beth framed the window; Matt with an aw-shucks grin in blue jeans and his letterman's jacket and Beth, her hair and makeup expertly done, in a blue dress. Her eyes, even then, soul-piercing, could make you confess your mortal sins.

Matt and Beth's childhood and teenage trophies remained. Countless awards of varying sizes, colors and shapes stood on a bookcase by the door; Beth's for karate and gymnastics, Matt's for American football.

In the dark room, the lovers turned to face each other in bed, legs intertwining under the sheets. They whispered as to not wake the family.

"You've never told me what your parents were like."

Holmes shrugged, caressing Lestrade's arm with the tips of his fingers, watching goosebumps arise. "There's nothing much to say, really. They were both teachers and strict authoritarians. They were firm believers in the 'spare the rod, spoil the child' method. Once, when I was a young lad, eight or nine years of age or so, I punched Mycroft in the face, knocking out one of his teeth. Mother shut me in a closet and promptly forgot about me until morning."

"Jeez, Holmes, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, my dear. I bear no resentment for them. Mycroft and I both knew we were loved, though the sentiment was rarely uttered. We were not abused and rarely went without. Our parents simply had their own way of doing things."

"I once punched a boy who had been teasing me and Dad took me out for ice cream as a reward. Okay, what about Mycroft?" Lestrade asked.

"I suppose you can say we had the typical older brother/younger brother relationship. He found me annoying and to be a burden. I do not wholly disagree with this assessment. When he went out with friends or to buy candy, Mother would insist he take me. I was a curious child and had to examine anything I found interesting, rocks, dirt, discarded newspapers. I would follow people I found interesting, wanting to learn about them. I most certainly slowed him down. My turn. Why did you leave?" Holmes asked, admiring how the moonlight cast its glow on her face.

"I wanted to make my family proud and join the Yard." She replied, toying with and caressing his hand and arm. She locked eyes with him, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eyes. "Besides, someone had to take care of your wrinkly ass while you were in that honey."

Holmes drew her close, Lestrade giving a startled yelp, "I didn't hear any complaints from you about it before we left London," he husked in her ear, kissing her neck.

Morning came far too early for the weary travelers. All Beth wanted to do was stay under the covers with Sherlock and sleep until dinner. The way Beth's warm body was curled into his own was divine. Holmes, usually hating inactivity, was thinking along the same lines until he heard sniffing at the door.

"Stewart!" Beth exclaimed, not moving or opening her eyes, "Chill out. It's just a new person, not a pox upon the house."

The old boxer sighed and laid down, his tags clanking on the wood floor as he did. The world stilled once more for several moments. Eventually, Beth sighed and sat up, "Well, I'm awake."

Taking Beth's cue, Holmes got up and dressed for the day as Beth played on her phone. The sounds of a home waking up could be heard; running water, a coffee maker, the opening and closing of cabinets.

Holmes offered his hand to Beth as encouragement to start the day. She took it and groaned as she was pulled from the comfy bed.

As they passed Matt's room, Beth used her best 'cop knock,', yelling, "Get up loser!"

They could hear Matt startle awake and a flood of profanities aimed at his sister. Beth giggled.

The scene in front of them in the kitchen was an utterly domestic one. Beth's parents in their robes and pajamas, the morning news on as they started breakfast. The table was already laden with syrup, butter, jams and steaming coffee. Though Stewart sitting on a chair at said table was a bit out of place.

"Don't ask," Beth said. "It's _his_ chair."

"Good morning!" Tresa said cheerfully in a singsong voice, "I hope you're hungry!"

"Because it's waffle time!" David announced excitedly as though he was a sports commentator.

"Dad makes the best waffles. I have literal dreams about them." Beth did like her carbs.

"It's the nutmeg," David said proudly, grinning ear to ear.

Matt shuffled tiredly in the kitchen and plopped down. Holmes noticed how Beth and Matt both sat, their legs on the chair curled into their bodies. Beth only sat that way when she had just woken up.

Stewart visibly avoided looking at Holmes.

"Beth, Matt, will you take Stewart out please?" Tresa asked.

The twins groaned and complained, but ultimately acquiesced, taking Stewart out the backyard.

Holmes was left inside with Tresa and David. He knew what was coming, the 'if you hurt my daughter' speech. Holmes's mind was divided if he should ask David first while they were on the subject, but he doubted Beth would like that.

David wasted no time and Tresa leaned in. "Now, man to man, I need to know that you have Beth's best interests in mind. I'm in an awkward position here. I feel like I'm speaking to an elder and I've only read how you were characterized. I don't know exactly what was truth and what was fiction. You have been described as cold and had an utter apathy towards the law. Gregory always complained that you were hard to work with and to be blunt, utterly misogynistic. However, from the few times I have spoken to you, you don't seem anything of the sort. You certainly respect and care for Beth, and I haven't seen anything troubling. Basically, I'm asking, what's true?"

"Shall I say I have softened in my old age?" Holmes countered. He took a drink of his coffee, strong coffee only a police officer could brew. "What you have read was about a proud man. Later in my life, I was humbled by my own mistakes, namely the case of Ann Kelmot, my friendship with the Munro boy and my own defects; my deteriorating brain. I have always strived to not look at myself as the character Dr. Watson has portrayed me to be, but I will admit, that fame got to me at times. I have what a precious few have received and what many more pray for; a second chance. While morals and values fluctuate from person to person and pious will never be an accurate descriptor of my person, I do intend to do better this time around."

David listened intently and nodded. He took a drink of his own coffee, "Well, in that case, welcome to the family, Holmes," he said holding out his hand to the elder.

Holmes shook David's hand. David looked to Tresa and nodded. She agreed.

A peaceful silence settled for several moments.

"Beth leave Matt alone!" Tresa chided, "a bunch of wild animals they are. Can't say a nice thing about the other! Knock! It! Off!" She said as she tapped on the window, getting their attention.

Both men stood up from the table. Beth had tackled Matt to the ground and were wrestling over an unknown argument, Stewart running and jumping around them as though he were a part of the game he thought they were playing.

"You sure you want her?" Tresa asked Holmes, sighing.

The twins trudged in, Stewart rushing ahead of them, their heads down, ready for a lecture.

Tresa put her hands on her hips. "Well?"

"Beth said – "

"Matt said – "

They said simultaneously, pointing at each other.

Tresa held her hands up, "I don't even want to know anymore. You're both adults. Just keep it out of the hospital, okay?"

The twins muttered affirmatives. Matt started to walk off, but Beth feigned a lunge at him, startling him for a second, before heading to the living room.

Beth looked back and forth towards both men at the table, "Dad…why do I feel like I just walked in on something? Oh zed, you didn't give him the 'I'm not afraid to go back to prison and to chop you into a million tiny pieces' talk? Do you know how many boyfriends you've scared away?"

"No need to fret, my dear," Holmes said standing up and taking Beth's hand in reassurance, "It was a simple talk between a father and his daughter's suitor. I am no worse for the ware, though I do believe we all agree that I have passed the test, at least the preliminaries?"

David winked in response. "You should thank me for scaring away those boys, Beth, you would have never met Holmes!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Beth muttered as she skulked off to change.

Beth emerged in a pair of denim shorts, a tank top and a simple grey shrug with three-quarter sleeves. Around her neck, she wore the delicate gold locket Holmes had given her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing the geometric tattoo of a sigil long thought to bring protection. Simple studs in each piercing of her ears complimented the gold necklace.

At first, it had been a bit jarring to see the modern fashions women wore, so uncovered. In Holmes's time, their bodies were hidden and shapes altered. Now, women were encouraged to wear what they pleased. Though Holmes couldn't deny the benefits of being able to regard Beth's beauty without having to account for layers and layers of fabric and boning. Beth wasn't much of a girly girl, but she endeavored to always look nice and put together.

"Hey, Sherlock, let's take a walk around the block before it gets too hot," Beth said after breakfast.

Holmes nodded and followed Beth outside.

Though the pavement was cracked and pitted, the neighborhood was a nice one with well-maintained homes and mature trees and gardens. There was just enough shade and a breeze to keep the walk enjoyable.

"I kinda need to tell you what went down right before you were resurrected," Beth said once they were a few houses down.

Holmes nodded, listening.

"Obviously, I had to get my family involved 'cause dad had the code to the lockbox that had all your papers in it. We basically had a big family meeting to discuss if this was a good idea."

"Someone was against my reappearance," Holmes stated.

"Kinda. It's my Aunt Maggie. We won her over. She was very against the idea while she was your caretaker. She worried that you may not have been able to take all the stress. If you were on her watch, you wouldn't be here. Look, the last thing I want to do is to put drama between you two, but I know she may say something, and I just wanted you to be aware of that. Just give her time, give her space. Everyone else is really excited to meet you."

"Yes, a formerly dead man is a great party guest." Beth wasn't sure if he was joking until she saw the grin on his face. She matched his but knew this was a symptom of a bigger issue, it just wasn't the right time to talk about it.

"Oh, and my cousin Luke thinks you're Jack the Ripper."

Holmes stopped in his tracks, "Excuse me?"

Beth laughed, "I mean, the evidence lines up…I bet the only person in the world who can get away with murder is you." She teased.

Holmes huffed, "I know you think you're complimenting me, but you're really not."

By the time the couple made it back, Tresa was scurrying around the kitchen, her arms laden with groceries and utensils, "I'm heading to Grandpa's early to start cooking with Jett, Mag, and Kas. We don't want Grandpa trying to cook for all of us by himself." She explained. She gave Beth a peck on the cheek and flew out the door.

While David puttered around the garage and Matt played a loud video game, Beth and Holmes went back to their room for a nap. Travel may have advanced since Holmes' time, but jetlag was still a thing. Beth sat an alarm for ten minutes before dinner.

They pulled into an older neighborhood and landed in a driveway littered with cars and a blossoming magnolia tree to the side, partially obscured by a fence. Beth led him into the open garage and opened the door to the home without knocking. Inside the Lestrade clan was scattered around the living room, on the sofa, loveseat, recliner and the younger generation sitting on the floor. The house was already smelling of a delicious dinner cooking. They were in the midst of conversation when they heard the door open and the room fell silent.

"My word, it's actually him." Grandpa Adam said.

"Hey everyone," Beth greeted, "Holmes, let me introduce you; that's my grandpa, Adam, next to him is my Aunt Jett and Maggie. Maggie's daughter Kassie, her kids Brittany and Wesley. Jett's son Luke and his daughter Lucy and son Ben." Matt and David had arrived a little before Beth and Holmes.

"Hello," Holmes nodded.

Holmes and Beth took an empty seat.

"How are you finding the 22nd Century, Mr. Holmes?" Adam asked, not taking his eyes off the man.

"I am adjusting well, thank you. Without all of you, I may not be here. I truly thank you all for the care you have provided. I know it was a hard and inconvenient task, one you did not volunteer for." Holmes knew that the now American based Lestrade family would make regular trips to London to check on him before his return.

"It was my pleasure," Adam said.

"Think nothing of it," David said.

"Can you deduce anything about me!?" Brittany, a young girl with long brown hair asked excitedly, running up to the detective.

Holmes examined the girl for a few seconds, rubbing his chin as he took inventory. He wasn't one to use his talents as parlor tricks, but he did want to show off a bit.

"You are an artist and a quite good one at that. Before Beth and I arrived, you were helping your great grandfather in the garden and lastly, you were given the unfortunate task of giving Spike the pug his medication."

Brittany gawked. "How did you do that?" She asked, as though she had just seen a magic trick.

"Easy. There are paint stains on your shoes. While inexpensive paint nowadays washes off easily, allowing for a novice painter to make mistakes, the more costly products do not, due to the ingredients that give them their quality. Your parents would not buy you such costly paint if you were not any good. There is also dirt clumped on your shoes, as well as your great grandfather's, and no one else's. Notice the color and consistency of the dirt, red, almost clay-like that is common in these parts. You do not just pick up the clumps from walking around, but from working in the garden where the soil has been tilled and the red clay dirt exposed, from the garden I saw as Beth and I came in overhead. There is also fresh produce on the counter. As for the pug family," Holmes said, looking past the young girl to the family of snorting pugs itching to come inside, staring at the human family through a nose smudged glass door. He returned his attention to her, plucking off several white hairs from her shirt, showing her. "You are positively covered in dog hair. From what your cousin tells me, Spike puts up a fuss when it's time for his medication."

The room clapped. Oh yes, Holmes was going to enjoy this night. He regaled the family in the tales of his adventures, new and old, with Gregory and with Beth. Soon dinner needed to be tended to. Most of the older Lestrade family had gathered in the kitchen, preparing dinner as the younger generation showed Holmes around. Beth sat on the counter with a can of soda.

"What's he doing?" Kassie asked. The family soon gathered round the window, watching the famous detective.

"It looks like he's hunting for something?"

"Did he drop something?"

"He's probably looking for bees. He's been wanting to diversify his colony that he keeps in Sussex, part of his original brood." Beth answered, with the mild interest of someone who has heard enough about bees.

"He's gonna get stung!"

"He can tell you how many times he's been stung, in both lives."

Aunt Jett shivered, "' Both lives', ooh that gives me the heebiest of jeebies. He seems so…calm. Acclimated? How did he take when he was first…revived?"

"He took it in stride. He knew what he was doing. He really misses Watson, the real one."

"Does he talk about it…y'know death?" Matt asked.

Beth shrugged, "He says that all he remembers is going to sleep in 1947 and waking up in 2103 as though it were the next day."

"What about the depressive episodes? Dr. Watson said he could starve himself for days!"

"He does have his issues, I'll give you that, but he made first chair violin in the London Symphony Orchestra. He's already gotten music to learn. That should keep him occupied enough. I've never seen anything alarming when cases were scarce. I think he's figured out how to actually live with himself. If he gets freaky, well, I'll get Matt's pea shooter and shoot a Valium down his throat." Beth said, mimicking a slingshot as Matt grabbed his throat and pretended to choke.

"And what about his other vices?" David asked, his large arms crossed over his chest.

"Not a thing. He barely drinks." Beth answered, shaking her head.

"He could be hiding it," Maggie said, stirring at the stove.

"He could, but I would have seen evidence or track marks. We've been having sex for _quite_ a while. Pretty sure I would have noticed." Beth replied casually. The family stared. "Hey, you asked. All he wants to do is play the violin, solve cases, play with his bees and occasionally box and fence. He's doing great, I promise."

Matt took the opportunity to change the subject, "So has he got a new batch of Irregulars?"

Beth took a drink and nodded, "Yeah, they're pretty good kids. They're getting close to graduating. They're almost always over after school. Guess it helps when you have homework about the Victorian Era, and you know someone who lived through it. He's teaching one of the kids, Daniel Wiggins, how to box actually. The resident computer whiz, Joshua Tennyson manages Holmes' social media presence. Deidre Owens keeps him up to date on the new slang which is absolutely hilarious. It's like a foreign language to him!"

"They aren't homeless, are they?" Luke asked.

"Oh no, not at all. They all have decent enough families. I ran a background check on all of them long ago. Though Deidre and Wiggins aren't above exploiting tourists for cash."

"So," Grandpa Adam said, "What's it like working with him, the Master?" Pride and joy swelled in his voice.

The family listened as though they were about to hear the conclusion to a long-awaited saga.

Beth smiled, "It's pretty great actually. Well, afterward, during the matter it's like pulling teeth. He does what he wants which temporarily puts me in an awkward position with Greyson but who cares, Greyson can go fly a kite. He's gotten too comfortable behind that desk, which he promptly forgets about once Sherlock closes the case.

"He comes on strong when excited about a case, asking questions and making deductions in rapid-fire," Lestrade said, snapping her fingers in time, "He'll rarely tell you what his plan is and you're just caught up in his storm, along for the ride."

By then, the kids and Holmes had settled in the living room and were giving Holmes a crash course on all the incarnations of his persona. They were hanging on to every word.

"In this one, they made Watson a girl and you have a lot of tattoos!" Lucy said.

"Tattoos? Me? Heavens!"

"You're a mouse in this one!" Ben said, showing Holmes the character on his tablet.

"And a dog in this one!" Brittany said.

"Where's Watson now? The robot, I mean?" Wesley asked.

"Probably playing mother hen to the Irregulars, watching too many soap operas and American baseball with Wiggins," Holmes answered.

"Did you really shoot words into the walls of Baker Street, Mr. Holmes?" Ben asked, his eyes wide.

"Unfortunately, I did. I never got the deposit back from Mrs. Hudson either. I wouldn't suggest it."

The kids laughed, awestruck at the man.

"Do you really go in disguise, Mr. Holmes?" Lucy asked.

"I do! My closet is comprised mostly of costumes and disguises rather than my everyday clothes."

"I bet you're a really good actor, Mr. Holmes. Can you do an American accent?"

The question and answer session turned into the kids asking Holmes to do various accents and nailing them.

"I'm surprised at how well he's taken to them," Kassie said.

"Well, they are flattering him. He's peacocking if anything." Beth replied.

"So, he's _normal_ now?" Luke asked, continuing the conversation from earlier.

Beth snorted, "Normal isn't even a setting on the washer at Baker Street. He still argues with the Yard and he's still arrogant as can be. He still gets up close and personal with the crime scenes. He's still Holmes, but maybe a better version of him."

By then, the kids had lost interest in Holmes and had wandered off or to play with the dogs. Holmes found a large assortment of family photos on a shelf.

"That's my mom," Maggie said, noticing Holmes was looking at a certain picture.

"She's beautiful," Holmes remarked. Beth had that same bright grin as the woman in the photo.

"She was something else. She could drink coffee, crochet and watch tv at the same time. Those fish on the wall? Dad didn't catch them, she did."

There was a pause.

"Mr. Holmes, there are things you may not be aware of in this family, some past trauma if you will. My mom died of Alzheimer's right before your return. It was an ugly battle, unfortunately, Beth and Matt saw a lot of it. I don't want to see a repeat performance." She said, looking squarely at the detective, almost accusatory.

"And you have my word that neither do I. Sir Hargreaves has ran my genome backward and forwards. He has seen no mutations in any of the genes pertaining to my memory. While he cannot prove that I will succumb to senility once more, he can neither do the opposite. I must remind you, as bizarre as the sentence sounds on my lips, that I died of old age. Far before any more distressing symptoms or more dramatic memory loss could occur."

"Sir, I saw you dead. I saw your corpse. You scare me, a little bit. I vouched for your return, but it's different seeing you, standing there. I don't mean to put pressure on you, but you don't know how much you mean to this family. We grew up hearing your stories. Do you know the impact you made on the world? Modern forensic science would literally not exist without you. When Beth was in the Yard's academy, there was a mandatory class on your deduction techniques. Dad, David and I certainly used what we learned from you when we wore our badges. There are countless other ways you were remembered."

"Yes, there is quite an ugly statue of my likeness far too close to Baker Street." Holmes knew there was no logic behind this meeting. It was merely an aunt, traumatized by the prolonged death of her mother, trying to shroud her niece from another round. There was nothing either of them could do but Holmes knew that she had to get it off her chest.

"Just please, Mr. Holmes, take care of yourself, for Beth?"

"It is my every intention," Holmes loved Beth dearly, more than he thought he could love a woman, anyone. At times, he felt in his past he was a robot, cold and analytical but now, he was alive, human. He wanted to do right by Beth and even the Irregulars.

"Dinner's ready!" Adam called from the kitchen, a welcome reprieve for both Maggie and Holmes.

The meal was set out on the dining room table and everyone took a seat.

Adam carefully stood up, his aged knees slightly shaking as he did so. He raised his glass in the air, "I would like to raise a toast to our guest, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. It is truly an honor having you at this table. Your visage is a sight I thought I'd never see in my lifetime. You, alive and well, is the culmination of generations of hard work for this family. We also must raise a toast to Beth, for it was her tenacity to finally go through with it. We were so very proud of her before our guest was resurrected, and we are just as proud that she continues to work with you. You may be adding our Beth to the Holmes family, but we can assure you, you are a part of the Lestrade family as well."

"And good luck with Beth, you'll need it," Matt said behind his glass.

The table laughed as Beth slugged him in his arm, teasingly.

"Kids…" Tresa warned.

"Sorry mom," The twins muttered, the smirks on their faces saying it wasn't over.

"And Beth, let's keep Holmes from heights, whaddaya say?" David teased after the toast.

"Can I just point out that one of his latest batch of Irregulars speaks only in Binary and only Holmes can understand him without looking at his readout?"

"I merely recognized the pattern over time," Holmes replied, simply.

The dinner was a jovial and warm one. Holmes had been welcomed into the Lestrade clan. Family stories were told, old cases were discussed, and laughter was all around.

After dinner, the couple slipped out the back door.

"As you can see, Grandpa Adam and Grandma Hannah had a bit of a green thumb," Beth said. Along the edge of the fence and property line that dipped off into a shallow creek were several tall pear trees that provided a shaded path. There was a blossoming dogwood tree in the corner and off to the side of the house was a produce garden.

Holmes and Lestrade walked hand in hand under the grove of pear trees. A mighty oak, stories tall dominated the back corner of the backyard, a rope swing swaying in the breeze hung from a low, sturdy branch.

Beth sat down on the old piece of wood that made up the seat, "Grandpa made this for me and Matt when we were little. I spent a lot of time out here. Push me." She said as she kicked off.

He pushed her for several minutes before he could wait no longer. Holmes caught the ropes as it came back towards him and steadied Lestrade. He moved to face her.

"Know that I do not take this proposal lightly. I may have caught up with times in some ways, but in others, I have not. I do not care for this so-called serial monogamy for myself. Forgive me if I do not have a flowery speech made up, but I never thought I'd meet a woman like you, who has enraptured me since day one. Will you marry me?"

Sherlock Holmes for the first time, dropped to one knee for a woman, not caring about the dirt below him. From his pocket, he pulled out a velvet ring box and opened it, revealing a Marquise cut diamond on a gold band, flanked by a dainty round diamond on each side.

Tears of joy welled in the Inspector's eyes, "Do you need to deduce my answer?" She said, pulling Holmes in for a kiss.


End file.
